There's No Rainbow Without Rain
by DreamersMyth27
Summary: He's not allowed in his father's study. It's always been the strictest rule. The only one Draco's ever been afraid to break. The only one Draco is still afraid to break. But he's doing it.


**And here it is! This is basically a better-written version of the fic I deleted, _Draco Malfoy and the Blood Dilemma_. I wanted to make it better and was able to cut out a lot of the unnecessary information. I think this is really good, but if anyone spots any mistakes, feel free to point them out to me! Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a comment and tell me what you think!**

* * *

Draco stares at the mirror in shock. For a moment, just a single moment, he could swear that his eyes are green. But that's ridiculous. Draco has grey eyes. Just like his father. There's no reason to suspect anything else.

He's tired. That's it. That's why he's seeing things. It's late and he's just gotten back from Hogwarts. That's all. There's nothing else to it.

He rubs his eyes furiously and glances warily at the mirror again before exiting his bathroom and going into his room.

* * *

When Draco wakes up something black falls into his face. It takes him a moment and a yank to realize it's his hair. The first thought that runs through his head is wondering which of his roommates decided to turn his hair black. The next thought is that he's not at Hogwarts anymore. The third isn't a thought so much as an action; he jumps out of bed and runs to his bathroom.

By the time he gets there (only a few moments after jumping out of bed), his hair is completely normal again. And Draco is left with no answers and a million and one questions.

* * *

It's not uncommon for Draco's father to be busy. In fact, Draco would say it's uncommon for his father to _not_ be busy. So when his father announces he has business at the Ministry of Magic, Draco's unsurprised.

Draco's mother is busy too. That's a little more surprising, but still not altogether uncommon. This means Draco is left alone for the day. It used to be that whenever both his parents would be gone, Dobby would watch him. Now it's not. Draco suspects that has more to do with Dobby being free than it does with his father's trust in him to not get into trouble.

Draco misses Dobby, in some way. It isn't like he's friends with the creature, but he likes him. And it makes things more boring. While Draco is glad the great, big, bloody snake is dead, he wishes that it could have taken Potter and the Weasley girl with it. Then Dobby would still be here.

At the same time, Draco's glad Dobby isn't here. It makes figuring out what's happening to him much easier. So Draco forces himself to stop thinking sentimentally and goes to the family library.

He's not sure what he's looking for. There aren't exactly a huge list of books on someone's features changing randomly. And any of them he's found that might be remotely helpful aren't. Draco knows he's not a metamorphmagus. While the gene runs through his mother's side of the family (his blood-traitor cousin is proof of that) he can't be because he would have had proof of it earlier.

His mother and father arrive back and Draco still has no answers.

* * *

Draco spends the next month pouring through the library in his spare time. He becomes used to the occasional flashes of black hair. The stray view of green eyes. Even tan skin and a few freckles on his arms. It's common. But it never does it all at once.

The flashes of different features never happen when either his mother, father, or both are around. This is the final clue. He figures it out as the first month back school draws to a close.

Draco realizes that there's nothing in the library that can help him find out what's going on at this point. So on a day he's sure that neither his father or mother will come home unexpectedly, Draco enters his father's study.

He's not allowed in his father's study. It's always been the strictest rule. The only one Draco's ever been afraid to break. The only one Draco is _still_ afraid to break. But he's doing it.

His father's study is boring. That's really the only word for it. Draco's been in it before, of course. But never without his father there. Never without permission. And yet, no matter how against the rules this is, it's nothing exciting. It's just a boring study with a boring desk and a boring bookshelf containing copies of boring books from their boring library.

There's nothing here, Draco's sure. His father probably wants him to stay out for some boring reason, like 'Children shouldn't be in a place of work, Draco'. He sighs deeply and spins around, slamming the door behind him.

He freezes a moment later because there's a loud thud in his father's study. He better not have broken anything. He's so dead if he did. He can just imagine how upset his father will be.

Draco turns around and opens the door again, wincing. The thing is, the mess he's prepared for isn't there. Nothing's broken. And the only thing out of place is a book that must have fallen off his father's desk.

He walks towards it lazily and picks it up. It looks old. Probably a collectable. And the cover's in Latin. It's also probably worth a fortune. Draco hopes he hasn't broken it.

A quick once over reveals nothing is bent or broken and Draco quickly starts to replace it on his father's desk. Then he notices something; he's never seen this book before. Yes, it's in his father's study on his desk, but Draco knows his father. And his father likes to show off his collectable books. He likes to show everyone that he has something no one else does. And that means Draco's seen his father's collectable books, _all of them_ , many times over. He hasn't seen this one, which means this one isn't a collectable.

It's not hard for Draco to throw the cover open and begin to devour the words inside. He's not scared to admit that he doesn't understand most of it. Complex spells and potions that he doubts even Granger could decipher. One thing is obvious to Draco though; this book will give him a clue as to what's going on.

It's not that he actually _knows_ that. It's more an innate sense. And as illogical as that sounds, it's the closest he's gotten to finding any clue about what's going on.

Draco takes a similar looking book from his father's bookshelf and places it on the desk before tucking the old book under his arm and leaving his father's study.

* * *

Draco waits until late at night when he's sure both his parents are sleeping before looking at the book again. It's just as strange and confusing as he remembers. But he flips through page after page dutifully, reading every single word. And about halfway through the book, he finds something.

It's just a single page. It talks about disguises and purebloods not having children. That's not what's so horrifying to Draco though. It's what the spell is meant to be used for.

He's always known that pureblood women were becoming either less common or unable to have children. But he's never… before this day Draco's never suspected that some pureblood families might kidnap children and use a spell, this spell, to make them look like their 'parents'. It's sickening. Who could ever even consider that?

Draco freezes. Everything about this, the symptoms when the spell begins to wear off, they match up with everything happening to him. But it's not true. It can't be true. Draco is a Malfoy, and what's more, he's his father's son. He's reading too much into this.

And yet, no matter how much Draco denies it, the evidence is astronomical. There's really only one way to find out for sure though. He has to perform the counterspell on himself and see if his appearance changes.

The thing is, if this is real, if he has this spell on him, it means his parents aren't his parents. It means he's only an heir for his father and mother. Not a son. Never a son. What's so scary about this is the more Draco thinks about it, the more this fits. He's never been coddled exactly. He's spoiled. Given everything he wants. He's not afraid to admit that he can be a brat. But all of this is true as long as it _doesn't_ involve his father and mother spending time with him. Not unless they want to or need to for a function.

It's like a slap in the face for Draco. Suddenly he can't help but go over every interaction with his parents in his mind, looking for underlying meanings and hidden messages. The more he looks, the less he likes it. This is the push he needs though. Because now Draco stands up and walks into his bathroom slowly.

Once he arrives and stands in the mirror, he looks carefully at himself. He's been told so many times that he looks just like his father. A perfect copy. And no matter how angry he is. No matter how much he's beginning to suspect that his father isn't actually his father, Draco doesn't want to lose this. It's not pride in his looks, it's the connection to a cold and callous father.

There's only one way to know though. So Draco takes a deep breath, holds his wand to his body, and says the spell quietly. He keeps his eyes closed as a feeling like cold water trickling down his spine begins. Then it changes to a numbness from the tips of his toes all the way to his nose. Once that all stops, once he feels normal again, Draco opens his eyes, but keeps his gaze on the floor.

His skin is different. Tanner. He can see black hair falling into his face. Draco feels shorter. He wonders vaguely if his birth mother is his Aunt Bellatrix. It would make sense. She was sentenced to Azkaban just a few days after Voldemort disappeared. He might have been placed here to be kept safe and disguised for the same reason. People probably wouldn't get along with the son of the Death Eater who tortured the Longbottoms to madness.

But none of his speculating will reveal what he really looks like. So Draco steels himself and looks up at the mirror, taking in his appearance with greedy eyes.

He recognizes himself.

It's impossible not to, really. Because staring back at him in the mirror is an exact copy of Potter minus the scar and glasses. Draco's eyes widen, and at the same time the Potter in the mirror's eyes do the same.

He's going to be sick.

* * *

Draco wakes up the next morning convinced that it was a dream. Then he sees himself again and he still looks like Potter. It's not an ideal situation for many reasons. The first being that it means he's probably Potter's twin.

He's not sure how that should make him feel.

Potter isn't a pureblood, which means neither is Draco. And doesn't that just throw all of Draco's ideology into a blender? He's made fun of muggles and muggleborns when it turns out he's related to muggles and muggleborns.

For as long he can remember he's been told, conditioned, to believe that muggles are scum and so are muggleborns. That the muggleborns are weaker witches and wizards. But if he's related to a muggleborn, the son of one, shouldn't he be weaker?

Draco's not weaker, though. He has the next highest grades, just below Granger. He's a powerful wizard. But he's not a pureblood. At least, he doesn't think he is.

(He can't help but hold out hope that everything is a dream, or the result of some prank, even though deep down he knows that it's not.)

How is Draco even going to hide this from his parents? They'll notice if he comes down looking like Potter. If what he suspects is right, they're the one who took him from the Potters in the first place. Although Draco can't help but wonder why the ill-fated Lily and James Potter never looked for him. If he is their son, that is. They should have looked everywhere. Unless they gave Draco up or they didn't want him.

Draco shakes his head vigorously, glaring at his reflection. He needs to stop feeling sorry for himself and start figuring out this mystery. First things first, he needs to look normal again. How to achieve that is beyond him though. Unless…

Draco rushes out of the bathroom and snatches a plain silver bracelet off his dresser. It's an old toy of his from before he went to Hogwarts. A plain silver bracelet that makes you look like whoever you want, provided that they're around the same size as you.

It's not a reliable toy, only meant for play. And more often than not after an hour of use, it needs to be taken off to recharge. But it should work, for now at least. He'll be able to look like himself, his old self, again. At least until his mother and father inevitably leave for the day. Once they're gone he can think of a way to keep the disguise up longer.

Draco places it on and focuses very hard on looking like himself. Pale. Blonde. A bit taller. Pointed face. Grey eyes.

It works.

Breakfast is a simple affair. Nothing fancy today. Just a simple bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar for him. His father eats the same along with a steaming cup of coffee. His mother simply enjoys a piece of buttered toast before floating out the door. His father sips the last of his coffee, sets the Daily Prophet down, pats Draco on the head, and follows her out the door.

Draco finishes his oatmeal quickly and heads towards his mother and father's bedroom. He's not supposed to enter without permission, but he needs to. For as long as he can remember, his mother has sat down in front of the fire and written in a diary. She still keeps them all meticulously organized on a bookshelf.

As Draco enters their room and snatches the diary labelled 1980-1981 he feels a slight amount of remorse. He's never invaded her privacy before, not like this. It's a necessary evil though, if he wants to know his story, that is.

First, he flips to a page labelled June 5th. As he reads over it quickly, he spots no mention of him or his birth. That confirms what he fears as true with irrefutable evidence. He's not his mother and father's child, not really.

(It also confirms whose he is, but he ignores that for now.)

Draco settles on the floor and starts to read the diary's every word, looking out for a mention of himself. It's not until he reaches the date of August 1st that he spots anything, and what he does see is deeply disturbing.

 _August 1st, 1980_

 _Early this morning, Lord Voldemort appeared on our fronts step in the strangest fashion. He had along with him a wicker basket covered by a blanket. He did not touch the basket and instead made it float alongside him. My interest was piqued, but he asked for an audience with Lucius and ignored my questioning gaze._

 _The meeting between the two was short. It was only an hour later they emerged. Lucius had the wicker basket on his arm. I myself was overcome with curiosity but refrained from asking anything until Lord Voldemort made his leave of our house._

 _Only a moment after the front door slammed closed, I found myself drawn to the basket. It was in an almost trance-like state that I removed the fabric covering it and gasped in awe. Inside the basket was a child, no more than a day old._

 _The baby was small and sleeping. I turned to Lucius, mouth open in an unbecoming manner. He smiled at me softly and took me into his arms as I was overcome with emotions._

 _It was only after I'd calmed down that he told me what happened in their meeting and why we were left with a child._

" _Lord Voldemort has left us with this child because he knows we cannot have our own," Lucius whispered in my ear. "The child will be important in the future. I do not know who his parents are or where he comes from, but I have been assured that he can be used in the future."_

 _I looked from my husband to the child and back._

" _How so?" I asked eagerly._

" _In the first place, it's common knowledge that those with an heir make it farther in positions of power," Lucius explained. "Then there's the matter that his parents are apparently high ranking members of the Order of the Phoenix. They were obliviated of his birth and existence, but he could be used as a bargaining chip in the future."_

" _If he is a newborn, does that mean he was born at the close of July? Is he the one…"_

" _Set to vanquish the Dark Lord?" my husband asked, smiling slightly. "No. He was born just after midnight on this day."_

 _I felt relief upon hearing this and turned to look at the child again._

" _What should we call him?" I asked._

" _Draco, perhaps?" Lucius suggested. "It an honorable name. One befitting a…"_

Draco stops reading at this point in the diary entry, feeling sick to his stomach. And to think, his parents don't even know whose child he is. He can only imagine what they might think if they found out he was a Potter.

What is perhaps the most horrifying is that Draco now understands so many things about his parents and how they treat him.

Draco's always been given anything he asks for. It's been like that for as long as he can remember. There've been conditions though. He has to be silent. Only speak when spoken to. Never break rules. Listen to his parents. His father's always been cold and distant. And while his mother's been kinder to him, she's never truly looked at him with love in her eyes. Or at least the type of love he can recognize.

It's a strange thought, but he's jealous of the Weasleys. How their mother and father look at them. It stirs something in Draco. Something he doesn't understand but wants to.

* * *

By the time the school year is about to start Draco's still in a state similar to shock. He's had plenty of time to think over everything, but that doesn't mean it's any more believable. In fact, Draco might even say that it's all less believable.

Nevertheless, Draco has accepted it. It's hard not to with the irrefutable proof of himself. He's somehow managed to keep his 'mother' and 'father' from knowing anything. That he knows he's not their son. That he knows whose son he is. That he's even upset with them. This only serves to further cement his proof that he's not _really_ a son to them. He's a means to an end.

When his 'father' brings him to Platform 9 ¾, Draco manages to escape quickly and jump onto the train, avoiding Crabbe, Goyle, and the other Slytherins. He's thankful that most of them probably won't even notice he's missing. He may have pretended to be important and acted like it, but he's never been that influential on the other Slytherins. They probably won't even notice he's not near any of them.

Draco finds an almost empty compartment and enters it. The only other person is an adult in shabby robes. Draco almost wants to sniff in disdain, but he can't bring himself to. It's strange, how finding out he's not pureblood has caused him to be more considerate. To actually think his actions through. Also because everything he's been taught to believe has been taught to him by people seeking to use him. People who never cared. Who never will, probably.

The man in shabby robes is sleeping, his breathing deep and even. Draco waits a moment before sitting down and pulling his hood up high over his head. It makes him hidden. Anyone walking by will simply see a muggleborn because Draco is nothing if not resourceful. It isn't difficult to find a plain muggle outfit. Jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie. He changed into it after getting on the train. His 'father' would never let him wear it otherwise.

Draco waits, slouched low in his seat and facing the window, for the train to begin its journey. Just as it starts to pull out of the station, he hears the door to his compartment slide open.

Draco stiffens in his seat and hopes it's a few first years or someone looking for a friend, but his hopes are to no avail.

"Can we sit here? Everywhere else is full," a girl asks. A girl whose voice he recognizes. Granger.

Draco shrugs, still looking out the window. He hears more footsteps and feels someone sit down next to him. No doubt Potter and Weasley are here too. He can feel their eyes on him before they seem to decide to follow his lead and ignore him.

They begin talking among themselves, ranging from normal school conversation in a normal voice to whispering lowly about Sirius Black and how he's supposedly after Potter.

That's not exactly surprising to Draco. Sirius Black is the whole reason Potter's parents, Draco's parents, his real ones, are dead. He can't help but hate the man even though a few simple months ago he might have cheered Sirius Black on. It's not like he's the reason Draco never lived with them, though he might be. Chances are when Draco and Potter were born, Black was the one who took him and obliviated anyone he might have known of him. It makes Draco want to go after him, but he knows that's a dumb idea.

But even with the conversation about Sirius Black and being in the same compartment as people he's actively hated for the past two years, it's a quiet trip.

Then the dementors come.

First the air grows cold. Then it starts to feel like all the happiness in the world has been sucked out of him, not a hard task since he's not sure if he's felt truly happy since his discovery. His worst memories are being played over and over in his head and Draco just feels like curling up into a little ball and dying. At some point, Longbottom and Weasley's sister come into the compartment, then a dementor.

The man in shabby robes stands up suddenly and a bright white light shoots from his wand towards the dementor. Vaguely, Draco notices Potter's fainted and the girl Weasley looks like she's having a seizure.

Draco stands up and leaves the compartment as fast as he can the moment the dementor's gone. It's not hard to get away. And once he's sure no one is following him, he heads to a bathroom and changes into his Hogwarts robes. Draco's always left his trunk at the back of the train. It's not like he needs it on the trip to the castle. He keeps a small backpack that serves to store a school robe and hat. It makes it all much easier too. And serves to make his escape easier too. Just an added bonus.

* * *

School is uneventful even after sharing a compartment with Potter, unknowingly on his part. The shabby man turns out to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Draco doesn't tease Potter or anyone anymore. He's sure everyone finds it strange, but most of his year mates seem to assume he's up to something. He doesn't discourage this belief.

Draco wants to tell Potter. (He can't call him Harry. Not yet. Not when they're not even brothers. Not really.) There's not exactly a way to broach that subject though. It's not like a blonde kid he's hated coming up and saying: 'By the way, I'm your long-lost brother,' is something Potter's foolish enough to believe, true though it may be.

And then there's the whole thing where Draco's really a Potter and he's in Slytherin. If he's really a Potter, shouldn't he be in Gryffindor? He's sure that the Sorting Hat never even had to think about putting Potter in Gryffindor. It's just more proof Draco's a mistake no matter where he is. The hat never even needed to think about where Draco belongs. If he could go back and do it again, he'd ask for Gryffindor.

The first time anything noteworthy happens to him is during Care of Magical Creatures. It's an accident, and Draco's not really upset. He might have been, before, but now he's not.

He's petting the hippogriff and he's just so tired and mad at the world that he whispers: "Not so harmless, are you, you great bloody brute?"

Of course, the hippogriff gets mad. Draco almost dodges, but the talons just barely graze his arm. It doesn't hurt much. Not with how numb he is to everything. He's quick to apologize to it and pat it again. It seems to forgive him and nuzzles his shoulder with it's beak as he's laying on the ground

Hagrid arrives at his side looking very pale through the wild hair and beard. Draco refuses the half-giants help with anything, including standing up

"I'm fine," he mutters, standing up.

The lesson ends after that, and Hagrid almost follows him to the hospital wing. In fact, when it becomes clear that's what he's planning, Draco spins around and growls: "I can make it there on my own."

He's being short, he knows, but it's Hagrid and he can't quite bring himself to care. Instead, he distracts himself with getting to the hospital wing faster. Once he arrives, Madam Pomfrey heals his arm in an instant. He thanks her and leaves.

* * *

It's right before Christmas holidays and he's in Hogsmeade alone. He doesn't want to be hanging around with Crabbe and Goyle. So far he's done a very good job of avoiding them. They genuinely think he's _busy_.

Draco enjoys the sound of freshly fallen snow crunching beneath his boots as he walks through the forest and to the Shrieking Shack. While the building has a fascinating history, no one really comes that often. Especially when there's this much snow.

It's the perfect place to be alone.

He arrives and no one is there, as predicted. It's nice. Draco closes his eyes and leans against the fence keeping people off the property, enjoying the sounds of the forest. He's tempted to take off his silver bracelet, the one that keeps him looking like himself.

It hadn't been hard to make the spell better, make it work all the time. It's the most reliable way to keep him looking like Draco Malfoy instead of Whoever-He-Might-Have-Been Potter. For once though, he wants to pretend that he's who he's supposed to be.

Draco takes the bracelet off.

The instant he does he can feel his form shift. He's slightly shorter. Where there used to be blonde hair falling into his face out of his hat, there is now black hair. The bit of skin showing between his gloves and his coat is tanner and has some freckles. Everything feels better.

Since it all, he's felt more and more uncomfortable as Draco Malfoy, or more precisely, looking like Draco Malfoy. Maybe it's the fact that he knows he's not supposed to be Draco Malfoy. Or maybe it's that as time goes on he finds everything just feels wrong, keeping up an act that's growing more and more depressing.

Suddenly he hears a noise behind him and freezes. There are people coming up the path and talking loudly. He recognizes the voices. Granger, Weasley, and is that _Potter_? He's not supposed to be out of the castle. He prays that they don't talk to him. Who knows what they'll think if they see someone who looks just like Potter standing there.

His grip on the fence tightens and once he's sure it's safe, he spins around sharply, keeping his back to them. Draco walks back towards Hogsmeade as swiftly as possible. As soon as he's out of sight, he puts the silver bracelet back on.

He's back to looking like a Malfoy, and he doesn't particularly like it. He just wants to run back there and tell Potter. He wants a brother and he wants real friends and he wants to feel loved. But it'll never happen.

Draco resigns himself to never telling anyone.

* * *

Everything comes to a head as things are bound to do on Christmas Break. He chooses to stay instead of head back home, citing some cheap excuse that his 'father' has no trouble believing. It's amazing just how easy it is for Draco to see how little his 'father' loves him now.

No other Slytherin stays behind. In fact, only a handful of students other than him are still here. Potter, Granger, and Weasley are among them. It makes it surprisingly easy to justify not telling Potter. After all, shouldn't it be a family matter? And it's not like him or Potter exactly have family left.

Somehow though, he has the feeling they know something's going on with him. It's not anything concrete, but more an innate sense. Almost like he can sense that they've been following him. Watching him. Keeping an eye on him.

And that's how everything comes out. It's late and he really shouldn't be out right now. He'll certainly lose house points if he's caught. But somehow, that doesn't really matter to him. It's like nighttime is the only time he can think. And that's why he's at the top of the Astronomy Tower in middle of the night.

He stares at the sky, the stars, and waits. Listens.

"You know, you're breaking rules by being out here," he says conversationally.

A snort.

"Like you're any better," Potter says, taking a seat beside him.

"I suppose you're right," Draco admits, face pinched. "I'm not."

Potter shifts beside him. He seems awkward. It's laughable, the hero of the wizarding world being an awkward teenager.

"Sorry," Potter says, quietly. "I didn't mean…"

"I know," Draco says easily. "I was a brat. It's not so hard for me to admit. Now, at least."

"I guess," Potter agrees halfheartedly as if he's unsure if this is a trap or not. It hurts Draco. But he supposes it's not an unfair reaction. Especially after all these years. Especially after everything he's done.

"You know," Draco begins, voice light. "I don't think I should have acted like I did, in second year. Or first year. It was wrong. I'm sorry."

"I know," Potter says quietly. "I think I've known since the beginning of this year. You've been different."

Draco smiles wryly.

"Thanks, I guess."

They're quiet for a bit.

"You know, Ron and Hermione, they know you're different too. They just can't figure out why." Potter laughs and rubs the back of his neck. "Neither can I, to be honest."

Draco hears the unasked question easily. Potter isn't exactly skilled in the art of subtle manipulation. He'd make a lousy Slytherin.

"It was an accident," Draco begins. "A spell wore off. The thing was, I never knew the spell was on me. It started small. My eyes would be a different color. My hair would flicker. I got curious."

Draco laughs bitterly.

"But you know what they say: curiosity killed the cat. I started looking around in the library, then my father's private study. Both he and my mother are almost always gone during the day. It wasn't hard.

"I figured out why it was happening. Did you know that when a pureblood family can't have children, it's not uncommon to kidnap a child and disguise them with a spell to look like a biological child?"

Potter gasps quietly. Draco looks over at him for the first time. Potter is watching and listening carefully.

"What's more, apparently the Dark Lord himself gave me to my parents. I wasn't even a day old. My real family, they never knew I went missing. They were obliviated. I did a spell to see what I really looked like. I have a bracelet I wear to keep me looking like a Malfoy though."

"Who… who are your real family?" Potter asks.

"They're dead now," Draco says dismissively.

"You know, just because you never met them doesn't mean it didn't hurt," Potter says kindly. Suddenly Draco remembers that Potter is in the same boat as him.

"Well, one of them is still alive," Draco admits. "But I'm scared. I don't want to say anything because they know me. And it's been strange. Because I'm not a pureblood. I thought I was and I'm not. I've had to get used to that."

"I'm sure whoever they are, they'll forgive you. You're sorry for how you acted, right?"

"I am," Draco says. "More than anything in the world."

"Then you should say something. Don't they deserve to know they have family left too?" Potter asks rhetorically.

"Thank you, Potter."

"Harry."

Draco blinks.

"You can call me Harry. We're friends now, aren't we?"

Draco smiles slightly and fingers the silver bracelet.

"More like brothers."

* * *

 **May or may not eventually add more. I'm debating...**


End file.
